


trouble finds me

by aeoleus



Series: Actions, rather than Words [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexs hypomania induced behaviors!!!, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Introducing, M/M, Minor Injuries, essentially alex gets into a barfight and john patches him up, have fun kids, its good yall read it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 18:11:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11651955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeoleus/pseuds/aeoleus
Summary: Alex stumbles into John's dorm with blood on his t-shirt and his eye swelling shut. You can guess what happens next.





	trouble finds me

**Author's Note:**

> I love that u clicked on this story despite the fact that i phrased it like a clickhole title.. "What happens next will shock u" lmao!! 
> 
> Essentially, this is part of my "Actions" series, Modern AU, where John and Alex meet in college Army ROTC as roommates, start dating, then both are commissioned to serve as GWash's Aide-de-camps. Also they're both gargantuan dumbasses.

“John!”

Alex’s eyes widened and he attempted to straighten up as John swung open the door to their dorm. He’d heard Alex’s keys scraping against the lock and had taken it as a sign (please!) that it was time for a study break from his survival first aid class. But as he stared Alex, it seemed that the universe had other plans for him.

 

“I, uh, thought you were at work?” Alex offered.

Alex, to put it simply, looked like someone had beat him with a rusty pipe. He was grimacing at John through a split lip, and the swelling extended across his jaw. His right eye was nearly swollen shut. His white t-shirt, which John had had to suffer through listening to him take nearly forty-five minutes to pick out, was ripped and covered in dirt, not mention stained with what looked like dried blood. He sagged against the doorway and attempted to look whole, and John wasn’t even surprised.

“Yeah. I’m not.” John said.

“I can see that.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“What, this?” Alex rolled his eyes and looked down, as if he had just taken stock of his injuries. “I’m fine!”

“Right,”John was oddly calm, crossing his arms as he looked up and down at his roommate.

Alex attempted to walk forward, but promptly stumbled. John caught him around the waist. Nope, no alcohol on Alex’s breath. Just coffee. And that musty aftershave Laf had given him.

“I may, uh, have hit my head.” He mumbled into John’s shoulder.

“Yeah, I can see that.”  
“Well,” John said, as he helped Alex stand upright again. “You’re not drunk.”

Alex began to limp over to the bed.

“What, do I _look_ drunk?”

“Yes.”  
“Well, I’m not.”   
“Congrats.”

Alex sat on his bed and promptly lay down, face first.

“Hey, hey, no! You’ve got like five open cuts! Let me take a look.” John rushed over.

“Can’t you just let me die in peace?” Alex groaned into his pillow.

“No. Too much work, training a new roommate this time of year.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me.”

“C’mon, sit up.” John grabbed the open first aid kit off of the desk. He’d just been going over its contents for the trillionth time, thank god.

Alex reluctantly sat up, giving John a resentful look he saw more often on the grumpy toddlers at the center Alex volunteered at than on the face of a sophomore in college. John had to suppress a smile as Alex leaned forward against John.

“You gotta sit all the way up, Alex.

John snapped on a pair of gloves (Alex scoffed. John ignored him.) and began to prod at the bruises around Alex’s eye.

“This one's open, I’m just gonna clean it up, okay?”

“Okay.

The cut slitting over his cheekbone wasn’t too deep. John wet a paper towel and cleaned out the dirt, put on some Neosporin, and put a bandaid on top. He cracked an ice pack.

“Hold this to your eye.” He told Alex.

“But I like it all gross and swollen.”

“And I like you better when you’re not talking, but we can't always get what we want.”

“Damn. That was harsh, Laurens.”

“I’m a harsh person.” John said absently. He prodded Alex’s jaw, drawing a sharp intake from him.

“Sorry!” He said. “It’s definitely not broken, at least.”

“At least we have that.”

“Any chance you’ll tell me what happened?”

“No.”

 "Okay. Hopefully they're not looking to come finish the job, because in the state you're in, it wouldn't be too difficult." 

"Fuck you, Laurens." The swear lacked most of Alex's usual vitriol, however. 

 

Face taken care off, John sat next to Alex on the bed.

“Okay, let me see your chest.”

“What? No, I’m fine!” Alex seemed to flush.

“Alex, you’re bleeding. Either you let me see or I get Hercules.” John threatened. Their RA was one of the only people who could scare Alex into shaping up.

“Fine!” Alex put down the ice pack and slowly wriggled out of the ripped t-shirt, wincing as he pulled it over his head.

“You need help?”

“No- ow ow ow, okay, yes.”

John gently helped pull the shirt over his head.

“Holy _fuck_ , Alex!”

“What? It’s not that bad.” He said defensively.

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” John mocked. “ _Not that bad?_ You look like someone fucking ran you over with a truck.”

Purply bruises exploded across Alex’s chest, but underneath was what concerned John. Old scars, thick and in no way clean, cross crossed his chest. They were uneven and certainly not surgical. A deep cut across the top of his chest was still bleeding.

“Did someone swipe at you with a knife?” John tried to ask this question steadily, but it came out panicked.

“Uh, no?” Alex didn't even meet his eyes.

“Why the fuck did someone swipe at you with a knife?”

No response. Alex looked down.

“You need to go the hospital, Alex.” John said.

“What? No!” Alex grabbed his hand. “I- can't! I can't go to the hospital!”

“This cut is deep. I'm not great at stitches, and it’d hurt twice as bad. You need a doctor!”

“John.” Alex said quietly. “I can't afford a hospital.”

“What? The University covers-”

“Doesn't cover enough. I can't afford it. Please.”

“Okay.” John said. “This is gonna hurt like a bitch, though.”

“Oh, I’m used to it.” Alex said. The sentence lacked his usual sarcastic intonation. It lay flat and sincere, and stung at John. _Used to it._

 _“_ Lay down.” John tried to think back. Stitches. Okay, he could do this. He could do this, right? Alex lay back on the bed, wincing as he did so.

“This is gonna sting.” John began to clean out the wound. Alex hissed and clenched his fists.

“Sorry!” John said apologetically. “Almost done.”

The bleeding was beginning to slow as John threaded the needle. This was crazy. This was insane. But this was Alex. John could just imagine his dad's reaction to John sewing up a cut on his friend’s chest in the middle of the night, and he bit back a laugh.

“Hey, Alex?” John said. Alex cracked one bloodshot eye open, as the other had swollen shut.

“First, put that ice pack back on. Second, this is going to hurt. Bad. Are you ready?”

“I’m fine.” Alex grit his teeth. “Just do it.”

“Okay.”

Surprisingly, John’s hands didn't shake at all. He wasn't nervous. He pulled the needle through the first time and pulled the string taught. Alex gasped and grabbed John’s arm.

“Sorry, dude, sorry!”

He did another, and another. The cut wasn't too long, thankfully. He knotted the thread tight and wiped it once more with a paper towel. He looked over at Alex’s face.

“There. Done. How are you feeling?”

Alex was looking ashy, half his face obscured by swelling.

“Peachy.” He mumbled.

“That’s the spirit.” John covered the cut with gauze and taped it into place. “Any other cuts I should know about?”

“No.”

“Good.” John cleaned off the bed, washed the blood off of his hands, and grabbed a water bottle from the mini fridge. He climbed back onto Alex’s bed.

“Drink.” He pushed the bottle into Alex’s hand. He shook more than a couple aspirin out of the bottle and handed them to him.

Alex downed them, drank the water best as he could, and lay back down. John made to get up, but Alex grabbed at him.

“Nah, just stay here.”

John tended to get into a bit of a zone when he was treating someone. He didn't get flustered, he didn't forget things. But Alex was treated, and simply laying there, with his big brown eyes and hand on John’s chest, and John couldn't even speak.

“I-I have my own bed-”

“I know, dumbass. Just stay here. My head hurts, everything aches, and your bed's too far.” Alex mumbled.

He reached up and turned the light above them off, and John was lying in the dark next to a shirtless Alex Hamilton. Albeit, a very injured Alex Hamilton, but still an Alex Hamilton nonetheless. He lay very still and tried not to touch him, but Alex clearly didn't have that idea. He moved a little into the wall so that John wouldn't be hanging off.

“So, do you want to know how I got hurt?” Alex said, a few minutes later.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I got into an argument.”

“Where, a monster truck rally??”

“Alt right rally.”

“Why the fuck would you go to an alt right rally.”

“I was tryin’ to pick a fight. Needed to punch someone.”

“You got some issues, Alex.” John said.

“Yeah, but so do you. That's why you like me.”

John smiled, grateful for the darkness for obscuring the deep blush spreading across his cheeks. Several minutes passed. Alex’s breathing slowed. John was nearly sure he was asleep. No doubt. His body was beaten and bruised and needed to heal.

“ _Wait_. Did you say you hit your head?” John suddenly remembered.

Alex laughed, a sleepy, delirious thing.

“I was hoping you’d forget.” Alex said, moving a little closer to John.

“No way. You’re going to the doctor tomorrow.”

“You got it, doc.”


End file.
